All That Splendour
by Bronze Cat
Summary: Susan watches as another young woman takes the throne and reflects back on her own coronation and reign.


_2nd June 1953_

"Ah, here she comes now," Mrs Burgess from No. 23 said. A collective sigh went up in the sitting room as, on the television screen, the great golden carriage rolled through the gates of Buckingham Palace. There was a sniff from Mrs Entwhistle from No. 14 but everyone ignored her. She was a crier by nature and was always reaching for her handkerchief to dab at her eyes for something or other.

Susan's fingers fiddled with her necklace as the carriage made its way through the streets of London and past the cheering people.

"Magnificent, isn't it? Look at the picture!" her host, Mr Wells was booming from his armchair.

"Bob!" his wife snapped. Mrs Wells was in the prime position on the settee directly opposite the brand new television set. They were the sort of people who had to have the latest anything. Not only the television, but a freezer too! The other ladies on the street had oohed and aahed over the latter as required and then privately remarked to each other what a waste of money it was. Mrs Wells had been the first on their street to step out in a replica of Dior's New Look. As Mrs Harrison at No. 31 had commented, "That Look may be New; but it's not a good one for her. More money than sense, they have."

So, of course, when it was announced that today would be televised for the first time, everybody assumed that the Wells would provide. They had done so, beautifully.

It had amused Susan to see the hierarchy Mrs Wells had constructed as to who could sit where. It had been carefully done; with hand gestures and brays of "Oh _no,_ dear, you are much better off there!" Thus, Mrs Wells' closest friends were seated in the circle of chairs and settees in front of the television. The kiddies were all on the floor before them and the less fortunate (or the ones who were civil to Mrs Wells in the street before gossiping madly behind her back) were on chairs behind the golden circle.

Susan herself was right next to Mrs Wells. This wasn't because they were particularly close or friendly but merely because, to Mrs Wells, Susan was still "Thomas and Helen's poor girl. You know, the one who wasn't on the train."

She was the charity case; the one who had to be treated with kid gloves as if she would shatter at any moment despite being aged twenty five and betrothed to a very lovely young man who had been shunted to the back of the room by Mrs Wells' seating arrangements.

"Aww, she looks beautiful," Mrs Entwhistle said, now sobbing in earnest, as she emerged from the carriage. She did indeed look very beautiful. That dress was stunning and Susan had read in a magazine that symbols of all her countries had been sewn into the design; a rose for England, a thistle for Scotland and so on.

Susan's mind began to drift during the ceremony and she inadvertently found herself thinking back to her own coronation. It had taken place only a few days after the Battle of Beruna and nowhere near as splendid as the spectacle unfolding before her eyes. Dresses and surcoats of velvet had been hastily sewn by the dryads and fauns and long strings of flowers were gathered and hung from what felt like every rafter of Cair Paravel. When she had tried on her dress for the final fitting, she had wanted to cry with delight and spin in circles with the skirts flying about her. She wondered if the young woman she was watching had wanted to do the same for her dress. She doubted it; she was almost thirteen years older than Susan had been at her coronation after all.

Susan's hair had been curled carefully and tied off her face and her beautiful golden crown seemed to make her hair shine. She missed that hair. That hair that had fallen in raven waves to her ankles and was so soft and silky to the touch. Now it barely grazed her shoulders. Its style was fashionable but rather boring and, no matter what creamy potions she bought from the smiling lady at Harvey Nichols, it never shone quite like it used to. It never felt quite like it used to.

How easy she had it, Susan couldn't help but think too. She was already married and she already had two children, one of them a son. Why, there was her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, right now; kneeling and swearing allegiance to his wife. The children, little Charles and Anne, were there too; Susan had seen them earlier. For that, Susan would always be jealous of her. She would never have to see the endless parade of suitors; she would never have to bow to pressure from advisors telling her to marry; she had a son to pass the crown to when her time was spent. She would never watch her brothers side-step countless pining girls and she would never have to deal with the likes of Rabadash and the others who saw only Susan's beauty.

But oh, how Susan longed for the chance to sit one more time upon her throne in Cair Paravel with her crown on her head and her brothers and sister by her side and her subjects cheering her name again and again!

As the new Queen appeared from inside Westminster Abbey, to a great roar from the crowds in the Mall below, Susan's eyes filled with tears. The people weren't cheering for Susan. They were cheering for her. For the first time they were united; up and down the country and across the world through wirelesses and televisions they listened and watched together as Princess Elizabeth became Queen Elizabeth II.

She would face war and opposition and tragedy; just like any other monarch. Just as Susan had. So, as the new Queen of Great Britain and the Commonwealth emerged onto the balcony of Buckingham Palace, the Gentle Queen wished her all the best. Her reign would be very different from Susan's but she was starting it the same.

She was starting as a young and beautiful woman at the end of a terrible war.

And she was already loved. All that splendour, all the majesty of dresses and jewels, were nothing compared to the faces of her subjects as they cheered their new monarch. Susan knew how that felt. She too had seen it. All she could do was hope that Elizabeth had as great and wonderful driving force Susan had had in her siblings and in Aslan. She would need it.

"Aww, lamb," Mrs Wells cooed, laying a hand on Susan's. She smiled at her bravely, unable to say why she truly was crying, and raised her glass.

"Everyone! I propose a toast; the first of many today!" she said.

"To Queen Elizabeth! God bless her Majesty!"


End file.
